Sweet Revenge

occupied, and her palms had grown sweaty, her hands had shaken so badly that it had taken her twice as long as it should have to crack the safe. Now her hands were dry and steady.
    The first tumbler clicked into place.
    She stopped, patient, cautious, when a car passed on the street below. She let out a slow breath, checked her watch. Five seconds, ten, then she focused her concentration on the safe.
    She thought of the prime sapphire in the necklace. In its present setting it was a bit overdone. A stone of that caliberwas wasted in the outrageously extravagant filigree work. Just as it was wasted on someone as selfish and self-serving as Madeline Moreau. Popped, it would he a different story. She’d already estimated that the stone along with its companion sapphires were worth at least two hundred thousand punds, perhaps two fifty. She’d be pleaded to take half that on delivery.
    The second tumbler clicked.
    Adrianne didn’t look at her watch, but she thought, felt, she was well within schedule—just as the tingling in her fingers told her she was very close to finishing. In the jacket she was overly warm, but she ignored the discomfort. In moments she would be holding a cool quarter of a million pounds in sapphires.
    The third and final tumbler clicked.
    She was too skilled to rush. The stethoscope was replaced before Adrianne eased the safe door outward. Making use of her flashlight, she scanned the contents. Papers and manila envelopes were ignored, as were the first three jewelry cases she opened. The amethysts were rather sweet, and the pearl and diamond earrings elegant, but it was the sapphire she’d come for. It glinted out at her from a blanket of buff-colored velvet, intensely blue, as the best Siamese stones were. The main stone was perhaps twenty carats, circled by smaller stars of diamonds and sapphires.
    It wasn’t the time or the place to use her loupe. That would have to wait until she was back in her room. Lucille’s patience might have worn thin by now. Adrianne would prefer to be out of the flat before the maid returned. If it was paste, she’d have wasted her time. Again, Adrianne held the pendant up to the fight. She didn’t think so.
    After sliding the box in her pouch, she closed the safe and spinned the dial. She didn’t want Madeline to have a shock before she’d drunk her morning coffee.
    Moving through the dark of the flat, she went back into the utility room. With care she disengaged the wires from her computer, and left them dangling.
    As silently as she’d entered, she exited.
    Outside, she drew deep breaths of cold, damp air but forced herself not to laugh. It felt good, so damn good. The accomplishment was everything. She’d never been able toexplain to Celeste the thrill, part sexual, part intellectual, that came the moment a job was successfully completed. It was then that tensed muscles could relax, that the heart could be allowed to beat recklessly. For those few seconds, a minute at the most, she felt invulnerable. Nothing else in her life had ever compared.
    Adrianne allowed herself thirty seconds of self-indulgence, then cut across the lawn, scaled the wall, and moved through the shifting fog.
    Philip didn’t know why he’d come out. A hunch, an itch. Unable to sleep, he’d wandered toward the place where he’d first seen Adrianne. Not because of her, he assured himself, but because he had a feeling about the Fumes. And it was a good night to steal.
    That was true, but it wasn’t accurate. He’d also come because of Adrianne. Alone in his house, restless, dissatisfied, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. A walk in the cool night through the streets he knew so well would clear his head. So he thought.
    He was what he supposed his mother would call smitten. It wasn’t that unusual. She was elusive, exotic, and mysterious. She was also a liar. Such qualities in a woman were hard to resist, he thought, and wished desperately for a cigarette.
    Perhaps that was why he’d found himself walking toward her hotel. As he rounded the corner he saw her. She stepped off the curb and walked across the deserted street. She wore black again, not the romance of the cape, but slim pants and a leather jacket with her hair hidden by a cap. Still, he had only to see her move to know it was Adrianne. He nearly called out to her, but some instinct held him back. Even as he watched, she slipped into the service doors and out of sight.
    Philip found himself staring up